We can change or part ways
by Helena Ambrai
Summary: Breakfasts without Jean-Luc prompt Beverly to question whether or not she could handle losing him. Title from "Recover" by Chvrches.
1. Hiding from you in this skin, so old

Please see end of chapter for Author's Notes.

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Chapter 1: Hiding from you in this skin, so old

The first morning after the Captain disappeared on Hilsek IX, Beverly Crusher was still in sick bay giving orders. She had been up all night dealing with the casualties of the previous night's explosion. The corrupt government had sabotaged the negotiations with representatives from nearby Hilsek X. Although the attack had been intended to look like it had been committed by the extremist group currently holding a protest in the capital, there was plenty of evidence to indicate that it had in fact been planned by the fairly tyrannical current Preceptor Prime of Hilsek IX.

The visiting delegation of Nilgen from Hilsek X had been the primary target, so of the total of 6 fatalities, only one had been a member of the Enterprise crew - one of the security officers stationed on the planet as part of the Federation's previously planned peace-keeping role in these negotiations. After her third round of check-ins on the 12 now-stabilized patients in her sickbay - sometime around noon - Beverly allowed herself to retreat to her office with her eighth cup of coffee. Sighing as she leaned back in her chair, she sipped the coffee to prevent herself from slipping off to sleep.

Being a neutral party and in possession of the best medical facilities available, the Enterprise had been the obvious choice to care for those injured in the attack - crew and Nilgen alike. Naturally this had been Beverly's suggestion, and naturally "suggestion" was a mild word for it. Luckily for her a doctor from the planet with no obvious ties to either side of the debacle had been more than willing to beam up along with the patients, saving her from another game of "learn a new alien's physiology while attempting to keep them alive." The injured Nilgen and crew-members were all in stable condition, but Beverly had stayed awake through two - nearly three - shifts of nurses to make sure that happened. As a positive side effect, it had kept her rather too busy to dwell on the Captain's capture. Worry wasn't going to help him, and sick bay was much more her forte than the political intrigue and military strategy that was undoubtedly going to have to go into getting him back. Still, she hadn't slept and despite the coffee she was starting to fray around the edges and get progressively more concerned about what might be happening to him and Data.

She caught sight of her reflection in her monitor. How much longer could she do this to herself, she wondered. She frowned at the thought, and then furthered deepened the frown when she saw how it exacerbated the wrinkle lines evident on her already exhausted-looking face. She shook her head at herself and put down the coffee cup to take up her medical tricorder. How many times had she scolded her friends for treating things like gloom-and-doom mysteries when they had medical facts at their disposal? She scanned herself efficiently but thoroughly with the tricorder and read the output. Heart-rate and blood pressure slightly elevated, but perfectly healthy. All other readings well in line with her usual vitals…and ah, there it was - heightened muscle tension and strain in her lower back, neck, and shoulders. Fears assuaged, she glanced down at her heeled boots and decided that provided that she made it that far, when she was a geriatric doctor she could wear more sensible shoes and hire an assistant to give her neck massages. For now a few minutes off her feet would have to do the trick.

"Riker to Doctor Crusher" - or a few _seconds_ off her feet, she mentally amended as her comm badge chirped.

"Crusher here"

"How are your patients, Doctor Crusher?"

"Doing just fine, in no small part thanks to the efforts of Doctor Kielgen."

"Give her my thanks."

"I would, Commander, were she not asleep in a chair. Evidently our replicators can't do justice to the Nilgen version of coffee."

"Ah. We'll be sure to have coffee at the senior staff meeting in five minutes, if you can make it."

"I'll be there." She let concern show in her voice as she asked, "Any news?"

"Nothing conclusive, but a few leads since last night."

"Have you slept at all, Commander?"

"No."

"Well, find some time for a nap today or you'll be taking a mandatory one in sickbay tomorrow."

"Yes, Doctor. Riker out." she could hear the smile in his voice and was comforted to know that he was still in fairly good spirits - things couldn't be _too_ dire.

A mere five minutes later, she was sitting at the table in the observation lounge surrounded by her colleagues. Chatter was at a minimum until Riker joined them to give them a full report. Conspicuously absent from the table were Captain Picard and Lieutenant Commander Data. Beverly only realized she'd been distractedly staring at the chair where Jean-Luc should be for several seconds when Deanna nudged her slightly. She gave her friend a quick glance of thanks before tuning in to what Riker was saying.

Pointing at the map he'd just brought up on the monitor, he described the last known location of Picard and Data before the attacks, within the central government tower in Niltren, Hilsek IX's capital, and the location, nearly 10 miles away, where the cryptic message from Data had originated. Data had managed to send a low-frequency message to the ship, but the only text they could recover was "We …. held. Interrogated ... Precept...uninvolved….derground….ur," with several parts obscured by noise. Geordi's primary task was to work on processing the signal received in order to extract the complete message. Beverly was honestly too tired to contribute much to the meeting, but she was glad to be fully in-the-loop as Geordi, Riker, and Worf nailed down some solid strategies for attempting to locate Data and Jean-Luc and Deanna outlined possible motivations for their capture and therefore possible identities of their captors.

At the end of the meeting she was called on to give an assessment of the potential health risks to the Captain and Data, given what she knew of Nilgen physiology, technology, and the geographic and atmospheric properties of their homeworld. In a detached professional manner, she summarized the methods of interrogation favored by the Nilgen - starvation and dehydration foremost among them, as they preferred to restrain from use of excessive force. In her estimation this meant that Data was likely to be severely restrained or deactivated, since he was not susceptible to such methods. The captain, on the other hand, would likely be given food and water only as a reward for information - regarding who knows what, since the Federation had intended to play a passive role in these negotiations.

She advised Commander Riker that if they were unable to get a transporter lock on Data and the Captain when they were located, the away team tasked with retrieving them should carry glucose solution hyposprays, water, and standard Starfleet rations. It would be her preference to be part of the away team in that eventuality, so as to best assess and treat the Captain. Provided that the Nilgen didn't want to provoke the Federation further by letting the Captain die, he was likely to be in immediate discomfort, but not immediate mortal danger. The message fragment had implied that they were being held underground, but the subterranean atmosphere of Helsik IX posed no immediate dangers.

Faces around the table were looking a bit grim when she finished her reply. Worf looked murderous, but that wasn't actually too unusual. Will cleared his throat before speaking, "Thank you, Doctor. You're dismissed to get back to your patients, though I think you'd also do well to take your own advice and get some sleep. I'll alert you to any changes in the situation, and provided the situation is safe enough, I agree with your proposal that you be included in the away team. Back to work, everyone." And with that, they began to get up from their seats.

Deanna turned to Beverly as the began to walk out, "I'd like to come with you back to sick bay to look in on everyone, see how they are handling things."

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Beverly replied before falling silent again. Deanna was a good friend, but it seemed an odd time for idle conversation.

"I do hope we get them back soon - the whole ship is always extremely tense with the Captain missing." If there was a significant glance from Deanna after this statement, Beverly was not paying enough attention to notice it as they entered the turbolift.

"Mmm."

"And of course we'd all prefer to have him back before things get too unpleasant for him. Starvation and dehydration seems an awfully primitive technique for such a relatively advanced people." Deanna wasn't surprised by the swelling emotions she sensed from Beverly at that last comment - her friend never failed to have strong opinions on human rights issues.

"_Torture_, isn't a discipline I particularly think needs to advance as a society advances. He and I were discussing it one morning not too long ago," and while it escaped Beverly's notice that "he" in her speech had at some point come to habitually mean Jean-Luc, Deanna was already keenly aware of it. It was part of what made her come to sick bay this afternoon - the patients weren't the only ones she was checking in on.

"After all, starvation is relatively easy to repair. I can treat your body. And to some extent, it's your body torturing yourself, when you starve or go thirsty. It's horrific, but you can understand it - understand what is happening to you. But 'advanced' methods of torture? Humiliation, degradation, psychological torture, mental abuse, sexual abuse? Deanna - broken bones and nutrient deficiencies I can treat, but I think you'd know best that a broken mind and a broken spirit make recovery much less certain."

"That is absolutely true." She paused for emphasis before going on, "But it is oddly comforting to know that the Captain feels the same way, don't you think?" Deanna raised an eyebrow as she said it, and the two made eye contact. Beverly smiled reluctantly.

"Yes, alright Deanna, of course you're right." Beverly shook her head slightly - she hadn't even noticed until that moment how uptight she had gotten in the course of answering Will's earlier question, but of course Deanna had both noticed and already engineered a conversation that would help calm some of her fears.

"You don't have to do that you know. I'll be fine."

Another raised eyebrow was the only reply from the half-Betazoid.

"But thank you."

They arrived at sick bay, and the next several hours were spent caring for and speaking to the patients, as well as learning more about the Nilgen political and social climate from Doctor Kielgen. At some point she, Deanna, and the visiting doctor grabbed dinner at her desk. Soon enough, Beverly was falling asleep in her quarters, having had barely enough energy to put on pajamas and send a few thoughts for Jean-Luc's safety out into the universe.

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Author's Notes: Story title and most chapter titles from the song "Recover" by Chvrches. This is set sometime before Attached, but still relatively late in the TNG episode timeline. Although not my first fic, it's my first P/C fic after years of P/C shipping. I anticipate later chapters with a higher rating, but any sections above a T-rating will only be posted to AO3, and the story will be written such that it is follow-able without those sections. It will probably be fairly long but not gargantuan, and I unfortunately can't make any guarantees about how frequently I'll be able to update. Thoroughly un-betaed, so any errors are my own. Comments welcome & appreciated. ~H


	2. Blow by blow

Chapter 2: Blow by Blow

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When Beverly was awakened by her alarm at 0600 hours, she got up out of bed immediately and started getting out clothes - only 15 minutes to get ready or she'd be late for breakfast with Jean-Luc. It was Tuesday, so she had to get herself to his...Oh. She sat back down on the bed with a thud, still holding the uniform jacket she'd just grabbed from her drawer.

No.

No, she wasn't going to meet him for breakfast today.

The strength of her reaction honestly surprised her. Almost immediately she could tell from her breathing and the tightness in her chest that she was starting to panic. It's alright, she thought to herself as she put the uniform jacket down on the bed and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. Why was this throwing her off so much?

We'll get him back soon.

He's going to be fine.

So long as we find him, you'll make sure he's fine.

They have plenty of information about his whereabouts.

There's no reason to panic.

He's missed breakfast before.

You've missed breakfast before.

It's just breakfast.

It's alright.

Just replicate some damn coffee.

It's alright.

She put her hand on her wrist to check her pulse as she continued talking herself down. Her heart rate was impressively elevated.

In between the repeated mantra of "it's alright," another thought appeared.

But what if he's not alright.

What if we don't find him.

What if he doesn't come back.

You'll never have breakfast with him again.

Forcing herself to breathe slowly was getting more difficult, and she gave up taking her pulse to hold onto the edge of the bed. She shook her head in an attempt to clear it. Calm _down_, Beverly!

But there was no use - years were passing by in her mind, lonely years without him, thousands of breakfast without his slight morning gruffness, without telling him about her days and nights, without hearing his brilliant mind breakdown a complicated strategy or the twinkle in his eyes when she swept into his quarters ten minutes late with her hair all askew. She couldn't regulate her breathing at all anymore - it was coming in gasps and she was starting to feel dizzy.

One moment she was on the bed and the next she had somehow slipped to the floor next to it. Then she was back-tracking through those years of loneliness and imagining what his body would look like when they found it. As she imagined it, he was emaciated and pale and his face seemed angular - lacking the surprising gentleness she was constantly rediscovering when she looked at him.

Suddenly the setting changed and she wasn't looking down at his body in sickbay anymore. She was looking at Jack's body on Starbase 32, and Jean-Luc's was next to it. Seconds later Wesley's joined it and she bit down on the side of her hand to stifle a shout at the terrible feeling of dread her imagination was producing. _Oh my God_, she thought, _am I going insane?_

She sat this way for ten minutes that felt like ten years, her body held captive by its own spiraling morbid imagery. Finally, the medical expert within her won out for one brief second of objective observation. _No, not insane, but I think - I think I'm having a panic attack._ She was too dizzy to stand and every second that she spent worrying about how irregular her breathing was and how tight her chest felt seemed to make everything worse. _Definitely a panic attack_, said that analytical part of her mind. Unfortunately this recognition didn't seem to mean she could calm down. In between nightmarish visions of her dead husband's body next to Jean-Luc's and repeatedly imagining herself alone at breakfast for the rest of her life she managed to grab out for her comm badge where she had left it on her nightstand.

"Deanna," the way she said it made it more of a strained gasp than a word, and the effort it was taking to focus on what she was saying meant that she didn't even note how frightened she sounded. Belatedly, some part of her remembered that this was too early for Deanna to be awake, but there was nothing else she could think to do. She could barely get herself to do this as it was.

"Beverly?!" Deanna was completely awake in an instant. Her empathic abilities were always heightened by adrenaline, and since Beverly was so familiar to her it only took a moment longer for her to feel waves of panic coming from the direction of her friend's quarters.

"Panic," deep breath, "attack," followed by the sound of continued hyperventilation was the reply Deanna received, but she was already running through the corridors despite still being dressed only in her nightgown. "On my way," she replied to the comm badge gripped in her right hand. Although she was worried about just how out-of-sorts Beverly was, Deanna wasn't all that surprised. She'd been far too calm yesterday given how much Deanna knew Picard meant to her - whether or not Beverly was trying to ignore it consciously would make no difference to her emotions. Some day the people on this ship would learn not to try to hide from their own feelings. Or not.

Within minutes Deanna had used her ship's counselor's emergency override to get inside Beverly's quarters. She regretted that it would appear on the ship's official logs, but this wasn't really the time to worry about such things. She found Beverly still leaning up against the side of her bed, breathing rapidly, shaking, and sweating with a far-off, frightened look in her eyes.

"Beverly, I need you to look at me," Deanna directed in an intentionally relaxed tone. Beverly cooperated after a moment, putting a hand to her hair near her temple as she did so.

"Mm..m..my heart rate is elevated," Beverly swallowed as though fighting back a wave of nausea, "ex..excessive sweating….hype...hy...hyperventilation."

"Shhh, I know, Beverly," Deanna soothed as she sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. Less surprising still than this panic attack was the fact that Beverly was somehow managing to be practically analytical in the middle of a breakdown. She felt Beverly lean against her side. Running her hand slowly and rhythmically through Beverly's hair, she continued "You're right, you're having a panic attack. But you're going to be just fine. You can tell me all about your symptoms later, but right now we need you to think about something else." Beverly nodded slightly, grateful to have someone else in charge of the situation.

"Let's see, how about you tell me something, ok?" Another slight nod. Empathically Deanna could already tell that the edge of Beverly's panic was dulling as she was slowly but steadily distracted from whatever it was that was bothering her (though if this wasn't about the Captain, Deanna mentally bet herself, she would resign as ship's counselor).

"How about that baby you delivered last week, hm?"

"Lila," Beverly corrected her, and Deanna smiled - yes, she was going to be just fine.

"Yes alright, Lila then."

"Six pounds," Beverly took a deep breath, consciously willing herself to focus on just this one, isolated memory, "seven ounces. Eleven hours of labor," a somewhat more normal breath this time, "Ensign Barrows wanted to give birth without much medication." Beverly swallowed again and took several deep breaths. "She's beautiful. Her one week checkup is today, in fact, but I let Selar have the appointment." Deanna could still sense a thick swarm of emotions coming from Beverly - with fear as the most dominant - but for the most part her breathing had returned to normal and she was no longer shaking. Deanna held her friend closely and let her continue to outline the details of little Lila's birth and statistics. She got her to talk some more about her opinions on sick bay vs. in-quarters delivery, and then let their conversation come to a natural lull.

Beverly swept her hair back behind her ears and exhaled slowly. Reaching out to take Deanna's left hand in her own, she squeezed it as she said, "Thank you." Her voice was shaky as she said it, and she seemed briefly like she would start to cry, but she rejected the impulse - she'd had quite enough drama already for this morning.

"Of course." Deanna squeezed her hand in return, frowning out of Beverly's line of vision as she sensed her suppressing the urge to cry. A minute passed in companionable silence.

"That was...terrifying."

"Yes, panic attacks generally are. A lot of people have them, you know. Even in Starfleet." She paused, thinking. "Maybe especially in Starfleet."

"Mmm. I've seen a few people have them before in sick bay - they come in mistaking them for heart attacks, usually, but it was so much worse from the inside." Deanna simply patted Beverly's hand and nodded. Beverly glanced at her, "Often we have to give them a sedative to get them to calm down, but you were remarkable. I so rarely get to see you in action - not that I'm wishing for more opportunities. I'd much rather leave the panic attacks to Barclay."

"Luckily my skills are rarely on public display. And hopefully when they are I'm wearing slightly more professional clothing." That was rewarded with a weak laugh from Beverly.

"We are going to have to talk about this though," Deanna added firmly. Beverly nodded reluctantly, but Deanna could feel her pulling away - whatever it was had truly shaken her friend up, and she apparently didn't feel like being forthcoming about it. Deanna sighed inwardly, why was it that both she and the Captain had to be so difficult about the things that bothered them? Just another reason they were cut out for each other. Give her Will's bluntness any day. "We can do it as friends or you can come to my office, but panic attacks can recur if you don't deal with the underlying issue, you know that."

"Yes of course," said Beverly, but she was already unfolding herself from Deanna's embrace and climbing back up onto the bed to fetch her uniform jacket.

"Riker to Doctor Crusher," came the signal from her badge, and if Deanna hadn't still been frustrated by her friend's reluctance, she would have laughed at the relief on Beverly's face at being saved-by-the-bell, as it were.

As Deanna also got up off the floor, Beverly cleared her throat before tapping her comm badge, "Go ahead Commander." She was already managing to sound like her usual in-control CMO self, though she looked like a mess.

"We found them. We should have a lock on them in a few minutes." Beverly and Deanna both gasped, and Will continued without apparently noticing Deanna's voice, "I promise to update you on how that came about as soon as we have a chance, but for now we need you in sick bay. We're sending Data directly to Geordi in engineering and Chief O'Brien is beaming the Captain straight to you. Can you be there in ten minutes?"

"Yes. Do we know his condition?"

"Not really, but" and Deanna smiled softly at how gentle Will's voice suddenly was, "don't worry too much, Doctor." Returning to his normal command tone, he went on, "In any case, I'm sure you're prepared for anything, but we don't think much harm has been done to him."

"Got it. Crusher out."

Deanna could tell that the conversation with Riker had put an end to her chances of getting anything out of Beverly right now. As Beverly hurriedly started taking off her nightgown and throwing on a uniform, Deanna grabbed a towel from her bathroom and tossed it to her. "Here, wipe yourself off a bit. I'll see you in sick bay as soon as I can put some clothes on. We'll talk later," she added hopefully.

"Thanks," came the reply from somewhere under the towel that Beverly was already quickly running over her face.

As the doors to her quarters swished shut behind Deanna, Beverly held the towel against her face and exhaled into it. In truth her hands were still shaking slightly. She was too rushed to have much time to think about what had just happened, but she did have enough time to decide that it meant things couldn't go on in the same way they had been. Medically she understood that she'd had a panic attack, and psychologically she had a much clearer idea of what was going on than Deanna realized. But that was exactly the problem - despite Deanna's proposal that she could work it through, Beverly was inclined to take her own second opinion - her feelings about the situation were not going to change, but she _could_ try to change the situation.

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AN: Thank you for the reviews/follows! As usual, un-betaed, so all mistakes are my own. Feel free to message me if you catch a typo :) ~H


	3. Carved earth, cold

Chapter 3: Carved earth, Cold

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6 hours prior

Somewhere underground on Hilsek IX, Jean-Luc Picard threw a rock across his cell. It was the same small rock he'd been idly throwing for the past two hours, either in an effort to annoy his captors or simply to give himself something to do, or in fact as a convenient combination of both. This time, however, he put some real force into the throw and hit the forcefield at the front of the cell just to the left of his guard's ear. After two hours of the same repetitive clinking of the rock against the wall, the guard spun around in surprise at the change in the Captain's behavior.

Speaking through tightly clenched teeth, Picard addressed the Nilgen, "This. Is. Ridiculous." He pounded his fist against the wall for emphasis. "What can you _possibly_ think to gain from this?" It was not the first time Picard had asked such a question, though it was the most evident frustration he had shown so far. As usual, the guard simply shrugged and pointed to the small recording device in the upper right corner of the cell. Then he pointed at the tray of food in the corner of the cell.

"Yes, I know. I'm being recorded. And no, I'm not going to eat that." Picard sighed. "Oh just sit _down_ I'm obviously not going anywhere and you're no use to talk to." The guard obeyed with a bemused look on his face. Turning to face the tiny lens, Picard spoke in a more measured tone, "Again, I will tell you, I'm of no use to you in this cell." He gestured around himself, "though you obviously disagree. If you would just let me hear your demands." Under his breath he added, "or tell me anything _at all._" "I'm sure we could come to an understanding." He sighed, "But all you're doing right now is getting yourself in a heap of trouble with the Federation." Again under his breath, "don't say I didn't warn you." Turning away from the corner he fetched the rock from where it had fallen and sat back down against the side wall.

In general, he didn't have any reason to think that his captors wished him any ill will. Their only intention at the moment seemed to be to painstakingly record the behavior of an extremely bored, frustrated Starfleet captain. He had tried a whole host of behaviors to see if he could get a response and eventually speak with someone other than his regrettably reticent guard. Speeches, threats, and explanations had all been to no avail. The only response he had gotten, in fact, was when when he had thrown a larger rock at the recording device itself almost nine hours ago now. The forcefield had been momentarily dropped, he had been held by several Nilgen, and his cell had been swept of all but the smallest rocks and pebbles. Still no one had spoken to him.

He hadn't seen Commander Data since just after the two of them had been brought down to this maze of caves. He knew that Data had managed to get some information back to the Enterprise, but he wasn't even sure of the nature or extent of that information. Given that he had been here for going on - he checked his rough estimate of hours he was keeping scratched in the dirt in a corner - 30 hours, the information couldn't have been particularly thorough.

After he attempted to destroy the recording device and received only the proverbial slap-on-the-wrist of having the larger rocks removed from his cell, Picard's conclusion that his captors did not want him harmed in any way was solidified. That meant, of course, that he had also promptly started a hunger strike. The best way to get attention from those who didn't want you harmed was to threaten to harm yourself. The three meals he had been offered in the subsequent nine hours had each been left in his cell until the next one arrived and then removed. He had taken the water from the trays and brought it to the corner of his cell - if necessary he would consider drinking it to survive more than a few days on this strike. Currently sitting in the corner of his cell was what looked like a bowl of some sort of porridge. It smelled sweet and slightly nutty. Frankly, he was hungry enough to eat it in a few bites and thirsty enough to drink every glass of water he was hoarding and then some. He sighed and leaned his head back against the wall.

Funny, he thought, how he and Beverly had just been discussing the phenomenon of starvation a week or two ago. He called up the memory of that morning.

"_The key, I think, is really just to try to think about other things as much as possible," Beverly commented as she swirled her coffee. They had somehow ended up discussing their experiences with hunger strikes - yet another topic that some might find off-putting, but Beverly addressed factually. _

"_I don't wish it on anyone, of course, but it isn't always a terrible option." She shrugged. "Particularly if you know they need you." For a moment she seemed lost in thought, and he suspected that she was remembering the Ansata, Finn - whether fondly or not he could never tell. "He was quite charismatic," he risked. She smiled at him shyly in reply and he could tell that she was both pleased and embarrassed that he could follow her train of thought. He smiled back - how could he not smile back at such a beautiful woman? "That he was," she agreed. _

_They both turned their attention to their breakfasts for a moment, and he tried to keep himself from dwelling on whatever it was that could have happened between her and Finn, had the circumstances been different. He was almost amazed that he remembered it so well, it had been what, two or three years ago now? Jealousy has an ability to burn a memory into one's mind. She still kept his sketch of her framed in her quarters, he thought, and then immediately scolded himself. He was much too old and much too fond of their friendship to give into acting like a jilted teenager. _

_Looking up from his dish at just the right moment to find her taking an enthusiastic and rather enormous bite of scone, he laughed, and she swatted his arm with her free hand._

_He put a hand up to forestall further abuse and returned to the topic at hand, "As I recall, the thirst is by far the worst part of it." She nodded. "Oh it would be, certainly. I'd actually advise against not drinking, unless the circumstances really merit taking it to that extreme. It's much harder to take, and much harder on your body, in terms of actual survival." _

"_But therefore, one would think it would be more effective as a means of getting attention," he countered, and she frowned at him. "Yes, twice as effective, maybe, and ten times as foolhardy, Jean-Luc." _

Hearing her scolding in his mind, he looked down at the glasses of water nearby. Speaking to no one in particular, he answered aloud, "It seems I'm betting that twice as effective is enough to get me out of this damn place, and ten times as foolhardy isn't enough to get me killed." He snorted. "Of course you'll have my head for it when I get back. But that's less of a bet and more of a certainty."

Think about other things as much as possible. Glancing again at the water, he shut his eyes tightly. He would need to think about something very distracting indeed to make this tolerable. His mouth was quite dry, but he couldn't risk sipping from the glasses - he was certain he didn't have the self control to keep himself from downing the entire thing once he let it touch his lips.

"_Stopping a hunger strike without making yourself sick is the greatest test of self-control I've ever encountered,"_ came her remembered voice again in his mind. "_You have no idea how many refugees and captives I've had to sedate once they were rescued to keep them from eating and drinking everything in sight. I always try to tell them - sips, you have to sip slowly, or your body will reject the intake after so much deprivation. If it's one person, I can stand there and take the water away from them when they start to guzzle it, but for a room of them rescued at once? There's nothing for it. We're just not made to instinctively understand that situation." _

"_Yes. I remember on one mission I helped free a group of colonists from Romulan captivity. Most of them made themselves sick in just a few minutes of being given food and water. We'd been told it might be like that, but we hadn't acted fast enough, having never been through it ourselves. But there was one sturdy older woman in the corner, as I recall, who nibbled her bread and meat and sipped at her water so carefully, looking around the room and shaking her head. I asked her how she could do that, and I remember her just looking directly at me, and saying "Practice, young man. It took more than once to learn the hard way, and I don't intend this to be the third time." _

_Beverly nodded. "Even knowing the physiology behind it, it was hard for me not to beg Finn for more the first time - and I'd been drinking plenty!" _

_Jean-Luc eyed her across the small table and raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure that was knowledge and not just pride?" _

_A short laugh. "You know me too well, Jean-Luc."_

"Not as well as I'd like to," he replied aloud, and as usual the guard paid him no attention. Well, at the very least this was a good topic to keep his mind occupied. Not as well as he'd like to by far. He called to mind an image of her as he saw her most mornings - her eyes, her hair, her smile - her waist - no, not _that _kind of distraction, Jean-Luc - everything about her was always so _alive_. Her presence in a room, much like her hair, was not unlike a little flame - throwing light at everything around it, and if it flared, it could certainly burn you. He remembered more than one such occasion - yet disagreeing with her had a way of making you admire her moral convictions all the more. He could hardly remember when he'd first noticed this effect, but it never ceased to amaze him. She was captivating.

If he didn't know her to the full extent that he would like to...or more accurately in the _way_ that he would like to, he couldn't help but be pleased with how much closer they'd become over the last few years. He knew so much more about her life - both her past and her day-to-day on the Enterprise, than he had dared to hope when she had first come onboard. He was accomplished at many things, but it was no secret that relationships were not necessarily among them, he reflected. But somehow amidst his infamous personal aloofness and his temper, he had managed to turn a hesitant invitation to share an occasional breakfast into the most important ritual of his day. When he stopped to think about it, it was quite possibly the most developed relationship he'd ever had. They were closer now than he and Jack had ever been. She knew him better than Deanna and Will.

And it had slowly expanded beyond breakfast; there were occasional dinners. When either of them walked into ten forward or attended a concert or performance they scanned for the other one, generally to find that a seat had been saved for them. Being a bit of a loner had long been more of his style, but it was undeniable that there was great comfort in companionship. Beyond that, it was a relief to be known by someone, and in his position of command, to have someone he could trust in weaker moments. He believed that she felt the same way. When he'd undergone the mind meld with Sarek, she was the only one he would have accepted to watch over him as his emotions raged out of control. When a day went particularly poorly in sick bay, or she worried about some nonsense Wesley was getting up to - she came to talk to him. Every time it happened he felt like he had won the lottery.

It was almost funny, because he had thought he loved her all those years ago when they first met. Compared to what he felt now, that had been a young man's inexperienced infatuation. He'd read many novels in which a character stated that he'd prefer to continue having the platonic companionship of the woman he loved rather than risk alienating her with more obvious affection. At one point he remembered finding this behavior inexplicable, cowardly. Now...well, it was a choice he understood rather intimately. In fact, now that he thought about it specifically, he'd much rather continue like this than be able to sleep with her as a passing fling. Someday, perhaps, they could have something more. Maybe. And if for now the crew sometimes gave them looks, he was at least sure that they weren't imagining anything he hadn't already thought about. He smirked.

A rumble from his stomach interrupted his musings, and he frowned. Now that he thought about it, if he didn't get out of here soon he would be missing breakfast with her. Damn these Nilgen for the hundredth time. Whether it was prideful of him or not, he hoped that she would at least miss him. Another thought occurred to him - he hoped she wasn't too worried. Damn them for the hundredth and first time. What a ridiculous situation.

Truth be told, he doubted he would be particularly reasonable if their situations were reversed. Somehow, though, he doubted that his crew would be surprised or would think it unreasonable. He'd long ago accepted that his feelings towards her were probably not exactly well-hidden. The interests of the Captain were always particular good rumor-fodder on a starship, and he didn't expect the Enterprise to be any different. To hell with it, he thought - even Captains deserved to love someone, didn't they? Requited or not. There was a chance it even made him more human to the crew. He frowned, well, maybe being...what was that term for it? Data had asked him what it meant about a month ago. Ah yes, friend-zoned. Maybe being friend-zoned was not precisely the way he wanted his crew to learn he was human. But so be it.

He passed another hour or two thinking about anything that came to mind before he lost the ability to think about anything other than being thirsty, at which point the thirst itself became something of a strange meditation on resistance. When the forcefield to his cell was dropped, his first thought was that the hunger strike had been effective, but he lacked the energy to be particularly thrilled. Mostly he hoped he wasn't so dehydrated that he would faint when he stood up. Soon enough, he was being taken to the planet's surface, where he was reunited with Commander Data and told that his ship would be beaming him out shortly.

This was beyond his expectations of the best-case scenario of his hunger strike, so he was forced to conclude that something else entirely had been responsible for their release. All for nothing he thought, as he ran his dry tongue around his parched mouth. "She really is going to have my head for that," was the last thought that crossed his mind before he was back on the ship.


	4. You appear

Chapter 4: You appear

* * *

Beverly Crusher made it to sick bay a handful of seconds before the Captain was beamed directly into the room. Before he had time to register his surroundings - dulled as his reflexes were by hunger and thirst - she had gently guided him to sit on the biobed next to where he materialized. Brisk and professional, she scanned him, frowned deeply, and pressed a glucose and electrolyte solution hyposprays to his neck before he could say anything.

"Alyssa, please bring me a glass of water," she said, and he felt a pang of disappointment that she hadn't made eye contact with him yet. She took his hand gently in her own for a moment so brief he could almost have imagined it but still didn't look at him directly. Soon the glass of water was in his hands and he was drinking from it greedily. He got through three gulps before she tugged it away from him sharply, sloshing some onto his uniform. "Sips! Or I won't give it back to you, Jean-Luc." She was making eye contact with him now - her expression somehow both compassionate and furious.

"I-" and his voice sounded so hoarse that he had to clear his throat and try again. "Can't."

"Yes you can."

He shook his head. She pressed the glass back into his hands but didn't let go, such that they were holding it together. "A Romulan prisoner of war can do it but you can't? Show me, Jean-Luc," she said, appealing to his pride.

He sipped the water, and fought the overwhelming urge to down the whole glass with all he was worth. He pulled the glass away from himself with maybe more force than was strictly necessary, and managed to splash a decent amount of it onto Beverly's arms. He instantly apologized but she just nodded her approval and he felt victorious when she released the glass into his control. He continued to sip slowly and removing the glass from his mouth continued to be a gargantuan effort, but he didn't gulp at it again. Beverly brushed most of the water off the arms of her lab coat and called to Alyssa for another glass of water, watching him like a hawk the entire time. While he sat in silence sipping, she took a few steps away and turned around, tapping her comm badge.

"Doctor Crusher to Commander Riker."

"How is he, Doctor?"

"Severely dehydrated and hungry, but otherwise fine."

"How long do you think you'll need to keep him in sick bay?"

"Four hours, no less."

"Mmm. We'll be needing his judgment on the situation as it stands - does he have your clearance to receive a briefing from me while he recovers?"

"I don't see why not." She moved her hand as though to end the transmission but then decided against it. "Commander?"

"Yes?"

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about how they treated him, would you?"

On the biobed, the Captain groaned slightly in anticipation, and Beverly already had her answer.

"To make a long story short, the extremists were holding them as leverage against the government, attempting to create a stir with the Federation and hold things up for their own agenda. So far as I hear from the Nilgen, they had him in a cell transmitting video to the Preceptor Prime, but treated him well."

"Mm," she pursed her lips. "Thank you, Commander. Crusher out."

She turned back to face him and he held up a hand in an attempt to forestall the oncoming lecture. She put her hands on her hips. He swallowed another sip before beating her to the punch, "I'm alright, Beverly. It was my choice to begin a hunger strike. It seemed prudent to go thirsty as well in the interest of time," her eyes darkened, "But I kept the water they gave me in my cell. Give me some credit."

"Tell me Jean-Luc, what exactly would you like credit for? For being foolish? For taking unnecessary risks with your health? As your physician I give you ample credit for both of those things."

"Beverly, I-"

She crossed her arms. "You kept the water in your cell. How positively _cunning_ of you, Jean-Luc. Certainly it's not as though you could have fainted before you decided to drink it. Or that your captors could have been too ignorant of human physiology to know not to let you drink it all at once to keep you from throwing it all back up and possibly never getting enough fluids back in your system. Yes, I see now how should give you so much credit for your well thought-out decision."

He frowned, harumphed, and held up his hands in surrender, "All excellent points, Doctor." He sighed. "Alright. I was wrong. Truce?"

"Don't do it again, Jean-Luc," she looked truly exhausted for a moment, and he suddenly noticed the circles under her eyes and slight post-sweat clamminess of her skin.

"You have my word. Beverly - are you quite alright?"

"What?" she swept her hair back almost nervously. "Yes, I'm fine. Just - didn't sleep that well," she lied.

He didn't want to see her go, but he didn't like to see her looking so tired. In any case he was well into his second glass of water and he was sure Nurse Ogawa was perfectly capable of making sure he got the food and water he needed to be back to normal. "Beverly I'll be fine, Nurse Ogawa can see to my full recovery - please go get some rest."

She looked as though she would disagree, so he continued gently, "I'd rather not make it an order…"

She nodded, acquiescing. "Alright, Jean-Luc - thank you."

And if he smiled to know he could make her more at ease when he saw the relief that passed fleetingly across her face, who could blame him for this interpretation? As it was, the real reason for this relief and Beverly's quick schooling of her features back to a mask of contentment would have been impossible for him to guess without Lwaxana Troi's mind-reading abilities.

* * *

AN: A bit of shorter one this time. PM me if you catch any silly mistakes. Thanks as always for your reviews! ~H


	5. A decision I know you fear

Chapter 5: A decision I know you fear

* * *

As soon as she was through the doors of sick bay, Beverly Crusher headed straight back to her quarters. Being in Jean-Luc's presence had stirred up a massive jumble of emotions in the wake of this morning's drama and she was relieved to be headed away from him. Her stomach sank as she was struck by a wave of shame. _Is this what I'm doing now?_ she thought _Running away?_ Running away from her Captain...from Jean-Luc, from _her_(?) Jean-Luc. The tide of confusing emotions rose again as she accidentally thought of him in the possessive, and while she had almost turned back towards sick bay, she now increased her pace on her way back to her quarters. She was frowning to herself as she turned a corner and nearly collided with Data. Turning at the last second to avoid him, she bumped up against the wall, and he put a hand to her elbow to steady her.

"Doctor Crusher, are you alright?"

"Yes, yes. Sorry, Data, I'm fine."

Data noted that she looked somehow...different than usual, and ran through 3,207 potential reasons. Settling in an instant on the most likely reason, he asked, "Is the Captain alright as well?"

Another pang of guilt/shame/concern at the mention of Jean-Luc, heightened by now being witnessed going in the opposite direction. "Yes, he'll be fine. He sent me to get some rest, actually."

Data nodded once, "Enjoy your rest then, Doctor Crusher."

Freed from this awkward encounter, she finally retreated to her quarters - realizing as she got through the doors and took off her lab coat that she had been too self-absorbed to ask Data anything about what had happened to him on the planet. Not her finest moment. She took a sonic shower before attempting to nap on the couch - trying to avoid thinking about Jean-Luc the whole time. She knew herself well enough to be aware that whatever decision she was going to make to resolve the complicated and distressing feelings she was having about their relationship was going to be a final decision, and she wanted to postpone that moment as long as possible. Things had been so delightfully simple between them for so long now….best to try to rest now and not dwell on the change in that simplicity that this morning had precipitated. Tired as she was, it was mere minutes before Beverly fell asleep.

_They were dancing, and her breath caught at the feeling of his hand against her back. Everything seemed strangely warm; her heart beat sped up like a nervous teenager. A nearby couple on the floor bumped up against her from behind, and she stumbled forward right into his chest. They both started to laugh softly, but then fell silent as they locked eyes and realized just how close together they were. Their breath mingled, and then both stopped breathing entirely for no reason they could identify. He stepped back, breaking the spell - still wary of rejection, of scaring her off. But she didn't want him to. She put a hand up to touch his cheek, stepped back up against him. His eyes widened in surprise, but he tightened his arm around her waist. She couldn't stop following the sharp line of his jaw down to his chin and then up to his lips, so, so very close._

_She brought her lips to his; he kissed back, then broke the kiss. He said her name like a gasp, like a prayer, like he'd been waiting to say it for his whole life. Maybe they should get something to drink, he suggested. She agreed with a nod, because there was only one thing she could think to say, and she needed just a little more time before she could say it. They walked off the floor, he fetched drinks for them both, handed hers off, then led her out onto the balcony, his arm hovering close to her back but not touching it, as though afraid if he touched her she would vanish. A few sips into her drink and she was ready. After all, she had trusted him with so much for so long. She grabbed his hand, he put his drink down, enfolded her smaller hand in both of his._

_I love you, she said._

_I have to go, he said._

_He walked away, and she dropped her glass to the floor. It shattered, and tiny bits of the glass hit against her foot, but the sting of it was nothing compared to the rushing tide of dread that threatened to drown her._

_She was drowning, calling for him, but he couldn't come. He wasn't there; he was gone. In this dream world it seemed she knew a thousand different ways he had left her - had been taken, had been in an accident, had been poisoned, had been left behind, had left her behind, but always it was the same - she was left without him suddenly and the loneliness engulfed her like a familiar monster who had missed the sweet taste of her sadness, of her pain._

_Jean-Luc, she called out once more, but as always there was no reply._

She came awake from the poignant nightmare with the feel of his lips on hers and the hurt of his absence still swirling around in her consciousness. Beverly sat up on her couch and tried to stem the tide of tears streaming down her cheeks. Fear of what she had seen in her dream, of the intensity of her own feelings, of this no-going-back situation spread throughout her body and suddenly she was cold, so cold. She closed her eyes, but behind her eyelids all she could see was his empty spot at the breakfast table. For now, she let herself cry, let herself remember losing Jack, because of course she couldn't help thinking of that, let herself curse this drive that led them out into the stars and put them in harm's way. When the tears slowed and then stopped, she wiped them away with a sense of profound resignation.

She loved him, of course she loved him. Not seeing it until now had been an act of willful ignorance. Equally inevitable, it seemed to her in that moment, was that she would lose him. Somehow, he would be taken from her like Jack had been. There was no way to prevent the hurt of losing him, but she could lose him on her terms. She could push him away. The decision made her stomach clench, but it eased her fear with the false comfort of control, and for the first time since this morning she felt like she could truly breath properly again.


	6. I've got the answer

Chapter 6: I've got the answer

* * *

It had taken her a half an hour to get dressed, but then Deanna made her way to sick bay as she'd promised Beverly she would. When she was nearly there she turned a corner to find Will, also headed towards sick bay.

"Good Morning, Deanna," he said cheerfully, with a nod and a touch of her shoulder as they fell into step. She sensed relief and satisfaction.

"Morning, Will. I take it things are going well - you seem awfully cheerful this morning."

"Well, we've got Lieutenant Commander Data and the Captain back, and soon this Nilgen fiasco will be behind us entirely, for better or for worse. Let's just say today had a much better start to it than yesterday did, hmm?"

Deanna nodded, but then paused, naturally thinking of Beverly's still very recent panic attack, "For the most part." Riker raised an eyebrow at the reply, but they were stepping over the threshold into sick bay, and the opportunity to ask a follow-up question was lost as both spotted the Captain on a central biobed.

"Good to see you, sir," Riker said as they walked towards him.

"And you, Commander, Counselor," was Picard's reply as he set down his glass of water and half-eaten nutrient bar.

"I thought you'd like to be brought up to date as soon as possible on what we know about the Hilsek IX-Hilsek X political situation as it stands at the moment - and Doctor Crusher cleared you for conversation at least."

Looking around the room, Deanna put in, "Yes, and where is Beverly?"

The Captain frowned, "I sent her back to bed - she didn't look well at all. Counselor, she mentioned not sleeping well, has she said anything to you about this?"

Deanna chose her next words very carefully, knowing that her interactions with Beverly that morning had been in a strangely nebulous land between friend and Counselor, "Not exactly, no, but I do know that this morning was difficult for her." Picard raised an eyebrow and Deanna shook her head slightly - no further information would be forthcoming unless the situation affected her performance as CMO.

Deanna was actually surprised that Beverly had allowed Picard to chase her out of sick bay when he was still clearly recovering. Surprised...and a little bit concerned - her intuition had nothing good to say about that turn of events.

Picard turned to Riker and asked him to begin explaining the situation, and the three of them passed the next hour in discussion of the finer points of the planetary unrest and the potential role or lack thereof of the Federation. When they finished their conversation, Picard dismissed them and asked Riker to notify that everyone that a senior staff meeting would be held at 1100 hours, at which point he would have a proposed course of action to discuss.

* * *

Beverly stayed in her quarters for the remainder of the morning, getting dressed in her uniform again and composing a message to the Captain. She spent an hour dictating several lengthy messages to the computer, but deleted them all, finally ending simply on "Unable to meet for breakfast tomorrow, perhaps Thursday." None of her long-winded explanations for the cancellation had sounded reasonable when said aloud, and she certainly wasn't going to attempt to explain her feelings to him, so direct but vague was the only option left. Asking the computer to deliver the message to Picard no earlier than 2030 hours that evening, she headed out of her quarters for the senior staff meeting. The trick, of course, would be to not be too obvious - not all at once. She would need to let him go slowly, or he was certain to put up a fight, and she wasn't sure how she would handle that. He was fierce in his defense of the things he cared about, and she had no doubt that she fell into that category.

Walking into the senior staff meeting, she greeted Deanna warmly, and then turned to look as Picard walked in behind Worf. He smiled at her and she smiled back before taking her seat, though the smile did not entirely reach her eyes.

Opening the meeting, Picard recapped the situation, thanked Doctor Crusher for aiding his speedy recovery from his self-inflicted hunger and opened the discussion on how to proceed. Naturally, Beverly's main input was to firmly assert that the Federation responsibility extend at least to providing medical supplies and assistance if any additional violence seemed likely to break out. Picard spoke next, "Certainly I see your point Doctor Crusher, but we cannot dwell here for too long - we are due at the Ranah conference in six days. Our best course of action, I believe, is to indicate just how severely damaging this type of conduct is for any planet or group of planets seeking admission to the Federation, provide constructive advice, and then make ourselves scarce and allow them to sort things out for themselves." Beverly looked ready to object, and he held up a hand to forestall her reply, "_But_, we are not the only Federation ship in the area, and before we depart we can alert the closest ship in this sector to keep an eye on the situation and provide medical supplies and assistance as necessary." She nodded, appeased.

The rest of the meeting was fairly uneventful, and they dispersed with a variety of tasks to get to, so Beverly wasn't forced to avoid a longer conversation with Jean-Luc. She headed back to sick bay to compose a report to the nearest ship detailing the potential physical and medical needs of Nilgen patients should more violence erupt on the twin planets after the Enterprise's departure. The work was a satisfying distraction, but when she finally got back to her quarters at 2030 hours, she did stop to wonder what Jean-Luc would think when he received her message. She attempted to dismiss her worries - it was already sent, there was no turning back from this path now. Removing her lab coat and picking a PADD up off her coffee table, she checked her own messages. One from Wesley about his week at the Academy - she would save that one for right before bed - one from Alyssa with some data she had requested, and lastly on from Deanna. She opened that one with some trepidation.

_Beverly_, _we should talk sooner than later. Reply with times that work, please. - Deanna_

Turning the PADD off entirely, she leaned her head back in the chair. She doubted Deanna would be particularly fond of the plan she had developed to mitigate the fears that her feelings about Jean-Luc were causing...perhaps she could manage to meet with her without being completely truthful about how she was handling the situation. Lying to her empathic friend was always a questionable endeavor, especially when the feelings involved were so strong, but she wasn't sure if she'd be able to get out of it.

* * *

In the Captain's quarters, Jean-Luc held a PADD in his hands, mirroring Beverly's own position of just a few seconds prior, though he didn't know it. He read the message from her again and sighed. Breakfast without her tomorrow. That was...disappointing. And frankly, strange.

He tried to resist the impulse to investigate further, but couldn't. Pulling up her duty roster, then the schedule of reservations in the gym, he stared at the empty timeslot in her morning schedule when they would normally eat together - still quite empty tomorrow morning. She hadn't reserved any equipment or an exercise room at the gym. More desperately, and potentially more intrusively, he checked the schedule of appointments at the salon. No - no haircut or manicure either. He frowned. Well, he was sure there was some good reason.

It wasn't that he didn't think of the fact that this was the first time in three years that their breakfast together had been cancelled for a reason that wasn't obvious...including if they were arguing. No, it wasn't that he didn't think of that. He just refused to assume that Beverly would cancel for anything other than a good reason, even if it was one she wasn't telling him. And he wasn't _exactly_ wrong, though it was certain that running from her fears would not qualify as a good reason as far as Jean-Luc Picard was concerned.

* * *

AN: Posted whilst sleepy and thoroughly un-beta'd - errors are quite possible. In any case, we're getting there! ~H


	7. Or it can be over

Chapter 7: Or it can be over

* * *

The next six days in transit to the Ranah conference passed relatively uneventfully. Beverly managed to get out of two of the six breakfasts with Jean-Luc by simply being very difficult to nail down on when she would be free. The breakfasts they did have were not dramatically different initially, but Jean-Luc noticed that he spent more of the time talking than usual, trying to fill the silences when Beverly stared off to the side of the table. She shared factual information, but very little of her feelings, and she seemed increasingly less mentally and emotionally present to their conversations, lacking the very liveliness which so drew him to her.

On the fifth day he nearly asked her about it, and on sixth day he made an excuse to leave early, unhappy with himself for his inaction, but simultaneously too uncomfortable to say anything and too uncomfortable to just stay there watching her slip away from him gradually for another hour. Maybe it was just an off week, he told himself. Or she wasn't getting enough sleep. If it continued, he would say something. He was sure of it. But it wouldn't. Deanna would talk to her. Tomorrow, he was sure, she would sleep more, smile and joke with him again. Still, when Will came to see him in his ready room that morning he could have sworn that the Captain was...well..._sulking_, for lack of a better word.

After he left that morning, Beverly poured herself another cup of coffee, and she told herself that she was pleased that he had left. Glad that he would help her to disintegrate their entanglement, their friendship. And yet, underneath that, she found herself strangely disappointed that he hadn't pushed back, hadn't forced her into a conversation. Maybe she didn't matter to him as much as she had thought. No, she corrected herself - it was better this way.

She had succeeded in keeping herself occupied and making herself generally unavailable to meet with Deanna by filling her days with a new immunology research project she'd been hoping to have a chance to work on. And if she stayed up late reading papers so that by the time she finally climbed into bed there was no time to dwell on her relationships and her fears, then all the better.

The afternoon after Jean-Luc left her quarters, the Ranah conference delegates were beamed on board and the conference on interspecies cultural exchange began in earnest. That evening, having just been in a meeting with the delegates, Captain Picard was responsible for escorting them all to Ten Forward for the concert of Earth, Vulcan and Klingon music that the Enterprise crew had been planning for months. This naturally meant that he arrived a full twenty minutes in advance. After extracting himself from an awkward conversation with the rather serious Bajoran delegate, he found a place in the front row fifteen minutes before the concert was scheduled to begin. Naturally, he placed his program on the seat next to him to reserve it for Beverly without a second thought. The crew began trickling in. Data was playing in the concert, as was Will, so it was Deanna who filled the space to his right as each crew member in attendance passed up the seat to his left without a second glance, long-used to the Captain and CMO's practice of sitting together. Long-used to the soft laughter and leaning together of heads, the way if you sat behind them you could see the Captain forget himself and nearly put an arm around her shoulders at least once at a given event.

He stopped in the middle of his idle conversation with Deanna as Beverly entered the room, wearing a maroon blouse that displayed an expanse of porcelain shoulder. He smiled to himself at her casual beauty, forgetting his earlier guilt when he saw that she was back up to her usual level of radiance as far as he was concerned. Their eyes met as they always did, but this time hers shifted away quickly. She looked to his right, nodded to Deanna, then raised her hand in a small wave in their direction as her eyes passed over him and over the seat next to him. She scanned the rows behind them and walked right by, taking a place in the fourth row next to a distinctly surprised ensign from engineering.

Starfleet discipline and a healthy respect and appreciation for their commanding officers was the only thing that kept several crew members already in the audience from gasping or otherwise exclaiming over this unprecedented shift in the Captain and Doctor Crusher's interactions. Needless to say, the reception following the concert was bound to be full of small pockets of hushed gossip when they were certain the Captain was far from earshot.

Sitting right next to the Captain and well aware of the shock and disappointment he was working hard to keep from his face, Deanna worked equally hard to ignore the exchange entirely. Giving him a moment of privacy and acting as though everything was perfectly normal, she subjected herself to the droning of the Bajoran delegate to her right. _What is she _doing_?_ Deanna thought to herself, _she can't mean to alter their relationship entirely, can she?_ She wrinkled her brow in concern as she thought through the possible outcomes of such an effort on Beverly's part, and the Bajoran delegate luckily took this as a relevant response to his story. _Would they even both be able to continue working on the Enterprise? I'm really just not sure that the Captain could handle it. Could he stand looking that rejection in the face every day at senior staff meetings? _As the ship's counselor, this was a legitimate cause for concern - the companionship that the Captain and CMO had found in each other beginning several years ago had contributed to a level of relaxation and camaraderie amongst the senior staff which was part of what made the Enterprise such a fine ship.

The musicians were warming up now, and the lights in Ten Forward began to dim. Before they dimmed entirely she caught Will's eye amongst the musicians, and he raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged.

The concert passed otherwise uneventfully, and Jean-Luc did his best to block Beverly's absence at his left from his mind entirely as he focused on the music. During a particularly fascinating section of the Vulcan piece, he found himself nearly turning to his left to make a comment to her, but he resisted the impulse, frowning for a moment. He shifted in his seat and feigned a grave interest in his program while he shoved away the disappointment and confusion. Now was not the time for that.

As the concert came to an end, he rose from his seat along with the rest of the audience. Applauding, he walked in front of the performers and waiting until the applause died down.

"A truly marvelous performance. Thank you. And now we invite everyone to stay with us for a reception in honor of the opening of the tenth Ranah Conference." He turned to personally congratulate the musicians as people began to rise from their seats and Guinan and several ensigns began to distribute drinks and hors d'oeuvres. He made a special effort not to look for her - not to seek her out. It was one thing to skip out on breakfast, to make excuses, even to be strangely distant, but it was another thing entirely to snub him at a public function in front of his crew and the assembled delegates. He was hurt, and from that hurt sprang anger. Whatever her reasons were, he did not deserve this from her - of that much he was certain.

They spent the first hour of the reception mingling with separate groups, orbiting around the room like repelled magnets; always maintaining a maximum distance as though by planned mutual consent. Their ability to find each other easily in a room was now employed to spot the other one and maintain distance. Both ignored how many conversations seemed to swiftly change topics when they walked up to a group, and if they heard the words "Doctor" and "Captain" rise above the general noise level in the room more than seemed quite natural, they paid it no attention. Or they tried not to, in any case.

It was inevitable that, at some point, they would fail to notice the other's location when moving groups or would both decide to get another drink at the same moment and collide. Circling the crowd and observing, Deanna and Will debated whether or not this inevitable collision would be explosive or icy. An hour and a half in, Will turned to Deanna and nudged her gently. They extracted themselves from the group they were currently talking to, and he led her towards the bar. Standing at the end farthest from the doors, he pointed down the bar. At the other end, Jean-Luc and Beverly were approaching at the same time as a small group of delegates between them kept them from noticing each other.

Jean-Luc placed his hand on the bar, and nearly jumped when a halo of red hair came into his peripheral vision. Until that second, he had thought he had calmed down, had talked himself out of his frustration with her; his offense at the way she handled this evening. Then he saw her, and that moment of blatant rejection came rushing back to him. _Red alert_, came the thought unbidden to his mind as their eyes met. _Shields up_, he thought, raising an eyebrow at her and turning to Guinan. Guinan took in the sight of the two of them and judged the situation to be too tense for even her intervention. Best to get the drinks quickly and take a serious interest in the other end of the bar.

"Whiskey," said Picard.

"Scotch," said Crusher.

Guinan noted the strength of both their drink requests, efficiently poured them, and promptly feigned extreme interest in Deanna and Will's conversation at the far end of the bar. They should have taken their drinks and escaped back into the crowd, but instead they sipped their drinks where they stood, glued to the spot by the tension between them. Jean-Luc finished his whiskey off with a gulp and set the glass down more firmly than he'd intended. The noise startled Beverly out of her own circling thoughts and she looked at him sharply.

He drummed his fingers on the counter, "Your seat tonight...did you have a good view of the concert, Beverly?" he asked, and while many would not have caught the venom and bitterness in his voice, she knew him. His voice deepened as he said her name, and the sound of it stung with criticism.

_How dare he?_ she thought, but following quickly on the heels of that thought was another, _But don't I deserve it? I knew how much it would hurt him, and I did it anyway_.

"Don't, Jean-Luc," she said, ignoring the part of her that rejoiced at the anger in his voice, at the sight of him so provoked by her casual rejection of his companionship, "Let's not do this here."

"Not here, Beverly? Because I think what you mean to say is not _ever_. I don't think you want to have this conversation with me at all, or any conversation for that matter, do you? You're too cowardly to tell me whatever it is to my face. You'd much rather just sneak away. Well go ahead then." _Ah yes, fire phasers at her in a crowded room - we're both cowards, then_, he thought with significant regret as he saw her hand tighten around her glass until her knuckles were white. She put the glass down abruptly. She looked as though she was about to say something angrily in response, but instead she turned and walked straight for the doors. His heart sank at the sight of her departure, and he stopped breathing as he realized that his angry words might just have truly put an end to his relationship with the woman he loved.

Watching this entire scenario unfold, Deanna, Will and Guinan also saw the Bajoran delegate approaching Picard from behind. Deanna shoved Will forward without mercy as Guinan walked swiftly to Picard.

Will skillfully intercepted the Bajoran delegate, professing a profound ignorance of the finer points of Bajoran religion and successfully turning him away from Jean-Luc and back into the middle of the crowd.

Guinan placed a hand on the rather-distraught looking Captain's arm, "Captain," she said, and she heard him take a massive breath as the interruption startled him out of his shocked state.

He looked up at her, and she wasn't sure she'd ever seen him look quite this lost.

"Go."

The idea hadn't occurred to him at all, but as soon as she said it, the desperation fled from his face to be replaced by stubborn determination. He didn't need to hear the suggestion again - he was out the door in seconds.

"Computer, locate Doctor Crusher," he stated perhaps too loudly into the empty air of the corridor.

"Doctor Crusher is in the turbolift," a pause followed, "Doctor Crusher is now exiting the turbolift on Deck 8." Headed towards her quarters, then. He set out on the same trajectory.


End file.
